Always eat your candied fruit
by Alexeij
Summary: Theryn Howe of Highever, former Arl Howe of Amaranthine, is quickly becoming one of the most powerful men in Ferelden after the onslaught of the Couslands. An extremely successful man, not even the Wardens can possibly resist him. But not all the players are out in the open, or worth noticing for the mighty Theryn. Enter the charming assassin.


_Always eat your candied fruit_

_by_

_Alexeij_

"Your orders, my Theryn". The man bows reverently, his spiked helm under his armpit.

"There is a little manor in the outskirts of Denerim" explains Theryn Howe with a languid voice, the poison concealed under the thin surface. He taps the map stretched on the desk with a fruit knife. "This Kendalls has got two little boys, his spitting image I am told" He stops and slowly munches the slice of some Antivan fruit called "_ananas"_, feeling the sweet juices pour out with every chew. '_Will have to order more of this'_

"Seize them and take them to the old warehouse by the docks, the one two alleys down _The Bachelor_. Send word when the deed his done". He waves dismissively at the man in suit of armor, slicing himself another piece of the tasty fruit. As the soldier reaches for the door, the Theryn calls back to him.

"And Chase?"

"Yes, my Theryn" the Captain's voice is gruff and denounces his eagerness to get going. Theryn Howe raises a grey, thick eyebrow at him, glaring at him with equally steely grey eyes.

"No failure tolerated. Send the envoy in"

"As you command, my Theryn"

As the door shuts behind the Captain, Theryn Howe munches another piece of his latest, choicest pick. '_Theryn Howe. The choicest pick of all" _He lowers his preying eyes on the husk of the Antivan fruit and a mischievous smile crwals over his lips, leveling the wrinkles around his mouth. _'Not unlike old Bryce: nothing more than an hollow husk filled with hypocrite honey-words. He inflated not soon enough under my boot. And that bitch Eleanor, what a ride...'_

Theryn Howe tosses the remnants of his meal aside and shifts on his seat, leaning against the crimson-velvet covered back with a pleased sigh. Another memento taken from the pillage of Highever, right from Wondrous Bryce's master bedroom. At times he could still catch the stink of smoke and blood emanating from it, memories of his rightful triumph over those deranged nobles who had dared call him their _subject._

'_Enough, they have had their deal. Bryce, Eleanor, that spitfire Elissa, all dead. And Fergus lost in the darksapwn's bellies. Now, to the future_'

The heavy, reinforced door creaks open and a tanned elf emerges into the colored light shining through the elaborate window panels belonging to the late Arl Urien. The elf bows respectfully, both hands crossed on his chest, his honey blond hair falling at the sides of his face and covering the tatoo around his right eye.

"The Crows send their regards, Arl Howe". His voice is sultry and somewhat melodic, twisted by his peculiar Antivan accent.

Thery Howe stiffens in his seat, sitting more upright and leaning against the desk. "_Theryn _Howe" he hisses between his teeth. The assassin looks at him quizzically for a moment, the shadow of a smirk trying to dig his way through his facade, but he remains inscrutable and bows again.

"My apologies... and felicitations" he purrs solemnly.

'_Let him remember his place_' "Good, now let's talk about business".

* * *

Later at night, inside his bedchambers, Theryn Howe allows his servants to free him from his leathers, then sends them on their way and sits on his four-sized bed. If he knew how to beam, he would.

_"I have Loghain wrapped around my fingertips, the Arling of Denerim is only two-brats away and the Grey Wardens are going to be history soon enough"_ He eyes the letter in his calloused hands, chuckling quietly with himself. A sight no one at Vigil's Keep has ever witnessed, nor ever will.

_'And now this. The Tervinters know their deal, this much must be conceded. Turning worthless knife-ears into sounding gold with the flick of their hands_' He quickly reads through the flattering missive for the eleventh time that very day.

'_My star is on the rise, no longer weighed down by those inept Couslands. And maybe...' _Theryn Howe's eyes trail off with his thoughts and rest upon the candied fruit awaiting for him on the night desk. '_Maybe after all this the time will be ripe for a new King'_. He takes up his newly sharpened fruit-knife and serves himself a generous chunk in celebration, reveling briefly in the mix of flavors dancing around his mouth.

He shallows a few chumps eagerly before the presence hiding in the shadows makes himself known.

"_Theryn_ Howe" he purrs melodically.

Theryn Howe startles and almost drops the fruit-knife in surprise, but turns around to face the sudden threat brandishing it. Too slowly.

A powerful hand seizes his, spinning his wrist and making him drop the wannabe weapon as the other clutches around his throat and suffocates the cries about to erupt. Grey eyes lock with golden one, a stry lock of blond hair brushes teasingly on his broken nose.

The assassin smiles, pure venom drooling over the helpless Theryn Howe, his bronze skin reddened by the candle-lights. Theryn Howe's mouth goes dry, any cry for help results only into a choked grunt.

"You thought you could kill a Reyes and live on without consequences, my Therin?" taunts the elf. Confusion dances through Theryn Howe's feature along with sheer pain and thundering rage. _' How dares he? I'm a Theryn, an Howe and a noble! He's only an Antivan whore!'_

Whatever the assassin sees in his eyes makes him smirk and shake his head in mocking delusion. "_Braska, _and here I thought Fereldans were supposed to be mighty warriors, not sniveling cowards who go around butchering women and children at their own leisure... without the prospect of a considerable money too"

Theryn Howe tries to break the assassins' grip, but it's like trying to bite off a steel lock. And the pain is growing so much, from his belly up to his chest, his neck... He feels a sudden want for air, his lungs going dry after his mouth. He tries to wrestle himself free, but the assassin keeps him pinned, an amused look on his face.

"The Madam Kiss is always a wonder to behold, _Theryn _Howe" he sneers, feeling the noble's neck muscles contract under his grip along with the ones now constricting heart and inner organs. He had once seen the innards of someone who had ingested the marvelous mixture by 'accident'... squishy. Theryn Howe's face grows purple and his breathing turns into a gruff wheeze, the blood vessels in his eye sockets exploding one after the other.

Theryn Howe starts trembling violently, his thoughts now incoherent. He no longer sees, no longer hears, his mouth is filled with blood he cannot even spit and his neck his crushing inwards. Excruciating pain flows through him wave after wave, his whole body feels like melting from the insides out. He mentally screams, but his body won't respond, his cry a silent one as the assassin mercilessly- if only a bit annoyed now - seizes him against his feathered bed.

In a few more moments the trembling subsides and the assassin deems safe to unwrap the corpse of late Theryn Howe from his gentle touch. A slight bow and he is at the window-pan. Then lost in the middle of the night.

"The House of Crows send their regards"

* * *

Zevran deftly flips the parchment in one hand, the dragon wax sigil closing it bathing in Denerim's sunlight. He whistled a merry tune as he strides towards the stables, a gang of misfits - plus a very cute blond apostate girl - tagging behind him and whispering among themselves. He catches the girl staring at him - at his bum, at least - and winks at her over her shoulder. Yes, this could fare no better.

After what he was told, the House of Reyes request for extremely painful deaths hardly surprised him anymore. That _Theryn _Howe killed the Reyes' star-daughter in her bed along with her six-years-old child up in the North and dumped their bodies in some forgotten place, it was only natural for one of Antiva's richest noble House to exact vengeance. Through the Crows, of course, and who better than Zevran himself for the task?.

Master Ignacio protested, stating that it was risky to attempt at Fereldan's second most powerful nobleman in times of Blight. Master Ignacio died and Caesar came to mildest conclusions soon after that. Plus, Ignacio had been wrong. Twice.

Fereldan's _second most powerful noble _was little more than a cockroach to the House of Reyes. To be stomped on with candied fruit.

And Zevran Arainai did not _attempt_. He aptly succeeded. Full stop.

He flips the scroll in his hand once more. Taliesen is heading north at the moment to dispose of the Theryn's children at some place called Vigil's Keep. Or was it Amaranthine? In the meantime, some other Crows are tracking the eldest son in the Free Marches. The Reyes cared little for who was involved and who was not. You bite them, they rip your head off. That's how it works in Antiva.

And now this Warden business. Zevran understands that the request to the House of Crows came from some Regent Loghain, who is Theryn as well it seems, and very much alive. The Crows will be piad profusely if he succeeds.

And if he doesn't? Well... Rinna has been waiting long enough.

* * *

_AN: Poking here and there, I found quite odd that the daughter of an Antivan noble house, and quite the important one I'm lead to presume (come on, Oriana married/eloped with Fergus Cousland, possibly the second most powerful man in Fereldan to be. Love at first sight or not, she has got to have a higborn background) could be murdered with impunity by a 'Fereldan dog-lord' like Howe. Especially like Howe. As Zev politely explains in his intercourses with the Warden, Houses, politics, business and the Crows are tightly interwined in Antiva, and many Houses strongly rely on them. _

_I thought about the timeline issue a long time. Howe assaulted Highever before Ostagar, and I'm led to believe that there would be some Antivans around Highever (you know, the bound-to-be town/village around the fortress itself) eager to inform a powerful House of the Couslands' and Oriana's demise. The journey through the waking sea to Antiva City can take about three weeks, planning vengeance with the heads of the Crows no longer than a couple of day, and the journey back to Deneri's cell with the orders the same three weeks. Throw in another week to inform Zevran and the others and it cannot take more than two months._

_Now, after Ostagar I presume the Warden stays at Morrigan's for at least a week, plus the journey to Lothering (not that close to the Wilds in the canon map) and the fulfilling of at least a treaty to catch Howe's and Loghain's attention. Say it's the Circle or the Dalish, or Redcliffe itself and not something as lenghty as Orzammarr. I'd wager that two-three months are a reasonable time for the rumours about the surviving Wardens to get consistent enough to attract Loghain's and Howe's attention, provided the Warden kills the soldiers in Lothering, and to contact the Crows._

_What do you think?_

_As always, thanks to anyone who reads and to those who help me with their reviews._


End file.
